


The One with the Ring

by fits_in_frames



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-08-30
Updated: 2004-08-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Respectable hobbit Samwise Gamgee goes to Hobbiton for some pleasure, and comes away with a whole lot more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Him

**Author's Note:**

> These are nine chapters of a fic I started and never finished. Apologies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes I get the feelin' you don't love me anymore, Samwise."

"Sometimes I get the feelin' you don't love me anymore, Samwise."

I felt my arms tense up as I stood up from my desk. "Now why would you think that, dearest Rose?"

She was standing in the doorway behind me, wringing a rag in her hands. "The way you just said my name. There's wasn't nothin' behind it. You used to call me Rosie. D'you even remember that?"

She was glowing in the candlelight. And crying. I walked over to her and took her hands in mine. "I do remember, Rosie. I've just been busy lately. Being an official such as I am. And I do love you."

"Then why won't you look me in the eye when you say that?"

I didn't want to answer. She couldn't handle the truth, that I just wasn't satisfied with the kisses and cuddles anymore. "I'm tired, Rose. Let's go to bed."

"If you won't look at me and honestly tell me you love me, you're not going to bed in this house any time soon. You'll have to sleep out on the steps or find a place in town." She pulled her hands away. "Even bein' an official such as you are."

I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't stare into her eyes as I once did. It just didn't feel right. "I'm sorry, Rose." I picked up my jacket and walked out the front door.

"Sam!" she called after me, "Come back, Sam!" She had a desperate edge to her voice that made me walk faster towards Hobbiton.

***

I stopped at a pub for an ale and then arrived at a place simply called "The Inn". I hadn't actually been into town in months, but someone who used to work at such an establishment told me it was just the place I was looking for. I walked in the door and tapped idly on the counter, waiting for someone to be of service. A blonde hobbit about my age emerged from behind a red screen. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a large feather sticking out of the band and an all-too-gaudy, silver-trimmed weskit. He had a mischievous frown, and looked as though he was from out of town. I couldn't put my finger on where, though.

"First time here?" Buckland. His accent gave it away.

"Yes."

"Can I have your name, please?" He pulled out what looked like an accounting book.

"Only if I can have yours." Oh! that made his eyebrows dart up!

He held out a hand and said, "Brandybuck."

"Gamgee." I took his hand.

"Not the Gamgee that manages the gardens over across the river, are you?"

"I am." How stupid I was not to use a false name. But what was done was done.

"Well then, I think I have just the thing for you. Only the best." He winked and disappeared behind the screen.

I reached into my pocket and jingled the coins there. Should be enough, I thought.

He emerged again and gave me a price. I paid it absently. "A special discount for you, Mr. Gamgee," he teased and recoiled again.

After a few minutes another hobbit, this one much younger, dressed a little less extravagantly, came out and nodded his head in greeting. "This way please, Mr. Gamgee." Judging by his accent and the way he clumsily carried the candle he held, I gathered he was a Took. He led me down a hallway. It was almost pitch dark, had it not been for the light that seeped out from the closed doors to our left and the candle. The floor was dirty under my feet. Snapped suspenders and broken buttons lay about like abandoned kittens. Each door was marked with rune. I could hear faint moaning from behind at least two of them. We got to the last room. The rune on this one read "F". He placed his hand on the knob and then turned to me. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what's an important hobbit like you doing in a—a place like this?"

"I needed a change of pace." He dipped his head slightly and pushed the door open. I entered.

And there, in the bed, was _him_. The most beautiful creature I'd ever laid eyes on. He almost shimmered in the moonlight. His brown curls reflected the orange glow of his cigarette. He looked tired but strong. I couldn't tell if he was wearing any clothes—I only saw the covers wrapped around his waist and a silver chain around his neck. On the end of the chain was a gold ring. It glinted in the light from the candle the Took was holding. I whipped my head around and he bowed out, closing the door. I turned back to the creature in bed.

He put his cigarette out by smothering it on the nightstand to his right. "So what is it you want me to do for you tonight, sir?"

My heart hitched for a moment. His voice sounded like a thousand elves singing. His wide eyes were bright blue, accentuated by the night sky in the window behind him. I draped my jacket and weskit over the end of the bed and started tugging at the buttons of my shirt, facing away from him.

"Right to it then?" He sounded like he was running a business. Then I remembered that he was.

"If you don't mind." I was already out of my shirt and was unlacing my breeches.

He shifted, put down his book of matches and threw off the covers. He was naked. "So how will you have me this evening?"

I didn't quite know what to say. I barely uttered an "Um..."

"You know, front, back, all fours, sideways, upside down, curled up in a ball, legs behind my head?" He stared at me blankly as I stood nude in front of him. He'd done this a million times before. I was nothing special.

I did come for a change of pace, so I managed a quiet, "All fours, if it's not too much trouble."

He turned to open the drawer of the nightstand, eyeing me suspiciously. Something clinked. "You're far too polite. They're usually rough and ornery." He took out a glass bottle, set it next to his still-smoldering cigarette, and closed the drawer again.

"Is that what you want?" I sat down on the edge of the bed at his feet.

"This isn't about me," he said plainly, "It's about you." I turned to look at him. "I'm ready to go when you are, sir." His expression didn't change at all when I nodded. He just got on his hands and knees and arched his back down like a cat stretching.

I wasn't quite sure how to go on. It'd been a long time since I'd done this—since my adventurous tweens. Before I even gave Rose a second glance. I cleared my throat slightly and muttered, "Lower." He obliged. I was hard, oh I was hard. I rose up on my knees slightly and entered him, gently at first, but soon lust overtook me. My hips bucked and I slammed in all the way, forcing a pained scream out of him:

" _OIL!_ "

I felt my face turn bright red as I pulled out and reached for the bottle on the nightstand. "Sorry."

His breathing was wet and ragged, but he maintained his stance. "You're new at this, aren't you?"

"No," I said as I rubbed myself with the oil. It smelled like honey and fresh cut grass. "Just—out of practice."

Before I had a chance to get back up on my knees, he turned his head and looked right at me, knowingly. "You can do whatever you want to me, you know. You don't just have to fuck me."

I froze. "Whatever I want?"

"Yes. If you want to just fuck me, go ahead. But I'm used to...other things. If it will make you feel good. It's all about you."

It was like he had read my mind. "All right then." I rose again and gripped his waist. Squeezed him till he squeaked. I leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Only if you don't ever scream again." His eyes were tightly shut. He nodded vaguely.

I entered him again, this time more slowly, slipping easily in and out. I dug my fingers into his stomach until I could feel his flesh under my fingernails. (He was a skinny hobbit; there wasn't much to hold on to.) His breathing was now shallow and quick. I could see his hardness, the redness of it sharp against the soft blue moonlight in the room. I reached and wrapped my hand around it. A soft moan escaped his throat. My other hand left his waist and started stroking the hair on the nape of his neck. It brushed over the chain several times. I found a curl that seemed out of place and tugged it, hard. Now he was almost holding his breath. I closed my eyes. My hips bucked twice and I came. I pulled out and kept stroking him till I felt him shudder and his seed was on my hand.

He flipped over slowly and looked absently at my hand. "Just wipe it on the bed. Doesn't matter." He was clearly out of breath. His demeanor was markedly changed. I don't think he expected to get off himself. As I dressed facing away from him, I heard him light a match and draw in a puff off his cigarette. When I turned back to him, he had rearranged himself so that he was in the exact same position as he had been when I first arrived, but his eyes were wider, if that was possible. The chain dangled a bit as he leaned slightly forward. He stared, blankly. Right between my legs.

"I suppose I should go." I didn't wait for him to respond; I just turned on my heel and walked out. I clicked the door shut behind me but stood outside it for a moment. I put my ear to the door and I could hear him sputtering and crying softly. I resisted the urge to go back and comfort him. This was his job. It wasn't my place to do that. I walked down the hallway in a huff.

"Will we be seeing you again, Mr. Gamgee?" The Brandybuck was grinning widely. He had a gold cap on one of his small incisors. It glinted in the dim candle light.

"I don't know." I flicked a coin on to the counter and it bounced into his hand. "Just in case, that's an advance."

***

I quietly stole into the house, well past the time Rosie would be asleep. I meandered into the bedroom and slipped into bed next to her, at her back. She was still awake.

"Rosie?" I rubbed her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She sounded congested and exhausted.

I leaned over her side and took a deep breath. "Me too. I shouldn't have done that."

"Where've you been? You smell like... grass."

Thank goodness for that oil. "I was just fixing things up."

"Explains why you're all up in a sweat." She turned her head to face me. Her nose and eyes were red. My poor Rose.

I looked her right in the eye and said, "I love you." She kissed me, then laid her head on the pillow and went to sleep.

It would be a long time before she realized I wasn't actually talking to her when I'd said that.


	2. Never Fall in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love was too much of a hassle, I thought, too much to handle. It would just end up tearing me apart.

I always told myself I'd never fall in love.

I almost did once, but we were both young and from widely different social classes. We were together for a whole summer, but I forced myself to cut it short before we really got involved. Love was too much of a hassle, I thought, too much to handle. It would just end up tearing me apart. That's why I allowed my cousins to convince me to work for them. I could have physical satisfaction without any attachment.

That all flew out the cracked window when he stepped into my room.

I heard Pippin call him "Mr. Gamgee" as they walked down the corridor to my little sector of their endeavor. The title meant he was important. The fact that they called him by name meant he was important. That was my signal to let him do whatever he wanted.

I had no idea.

As he stepped into the room and Pippin bowed out clumsily, my stomach gave out. I kept my composure well enough, but my heart was doing back flips. He was tan from outdoor work, no doubt. His blonde curls glistened in the light of the nearly-full moon. The neck of his shirt was just a bit too wide, revealing a delicious hint of collarbone. I resisted the temptation to lick my lips. His eyes immediately went to my ring.

They usually did.

My cigarette did a bit to calm me, and I was thankful that he turned around as he undressed. I could let my eyes wander. I made the normal requests—what and how—and he answered them plain enough. He wasn't as bitter as most I'd encountered. He almost seemed shy. The tips of his ears turned red when I asked him "how". I didn't allow myself to smile at that, though it amused me. He seemed inexperienced—he forgot the oil, for love of the Shire—but gentle enough that I knew this wasn't his first time. He'd done this before.

That made me hard.

I hadn't really gotten hard from just _thinking_ in years. I was so enthralled in the experience that I sputtered slightly when his hand curled around it. He was still inside me. He was rough, pleasurably rough, but I never expected him to do _that_. I didn't want to respond, but I couldn't help it. He said he didn't want me to scream, but nothing about expressing pleasure.

He didn't seem to mind.

He left almost immediately after I spilt all over his hand. I couldn't stop the shocked expression from creeping over my face. I lit another cigarette and stared off into space. My eyes locked on the area between his thighs. I pushed back the tears welling up behind my eyes until the door clicked shut.

It was the first time I'd cried in years.

Within a minute, my face was in my hands and my shoulders hurt from shaking so much. I wailed into the blankets that I pulled up to my face. The sound of my muffled cries disgusted me. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be crying like a lass until my chest ached. He was just another customer. He didn't mean anything to me.

And I certainly wasn't in love.

***

Two weeks have gone by.

I never told my cousins that I cried every night for the longing. They wouldn't understand. Every time I'd hear Merry say, "Back so soon?" my heart would skip a beat, but it was never him. Always one from out of town or occasionally a regular—the one who would always come in with little but a jacket and breeches on and lazily claw at my chest while he finagled his way inside me, or perhaps the older one who only wanted me to use my mouth and nearly ripped out my hair every time.

But tonight, I hear him.

Exactly two weeks after he first came, the moon is small in the sky. My throat is tight. My head is swimming. I light a cigarette to calm my nerves. He's talking to Merry, asking for "the one with the ring." I absently finger the chain around my neck. _This is what he knows me for_ , I think, _this is what he remembers_. I close my eyes, feeling the smoothness of the inside edge of the ring. I shudder slightly and slip my fingertip in and out of it.

It's not unlike what he'll be doing in a few minutes.

There's a lump in my throat. My eyes and nose are faintly pink from crying, and I can't withstand anymore, not tonight. I flick a few ashes off the end of the cigarette on to the floor, and draw in a long breath through it. I let it out slowly, savoring the smoke that fills my eyes, giving them an excuse to be red. I replace the butt in my lips and let it dangle there as I rearrange myself so that I'm covered from the waist down.

I'm already stiff.

I hear same soft padding down the hallway, this time unaccompanied by Pip. He bumps his head on a fixture in the hall and I smile despite myself. I take another drag and let it out through my nose this time. More ashes fall onto the floor. I feel his hand on the doorknob. He's hesitating. He must have already paid, if he's this far. Why isn't he coming in? I'm getting impatient. I put on my working face to detach myself from the feeling. Finally he turns it to the left. His right. He's wearing vaguely the same clothing he was two weeks ago, but I don't really notice.

I just see him.

His face looks older, his hair more frazzled. His tan is slightly diminished. As he gets closer, I smell the ale on him. He walks in a little surer of himself than he did last time and he speaks to me before I have the chance to. "I'd like to take it a little slower this time. Maybe a little... you know."

"Foreplay," I spit out automatically, cigarette still between my lips.

"Yes. Some of that." When I nod, he begins tearing off his jacket, shirt, breeches, seemingly oblivious to me. I keep the covers on me this time. Now he's on one knee on the bed. "Can I ask you something first?" His delivery is so deadpan I almost don't answer. But my head is bobbing up and down in agreement. "What's your name?" I suck in a last good drag off the cigarette to mask my surprise.

"Only if I can have yours."

That takes him aback. I didn't think he'd want his whore to know his name. That might start rumors, and if he's as important as Merry and Pip think, he doesn't want rumors. "Well then." He's all flustered. I stifle a grin. I extinguish my cigarette on the nightstand like I always do. He advances towards me, puts a hand behind my head and takes my mouth in his. I feel his fingers run through my hair, scrubbing at my scalp. He tastes like a pub. His tongue is running all over mine. His arms are wrapped around me, holding me tight. He whispers in my ear, "Same as last time." I assume my cat position, his hands almost guiding me. He takes the oil off the nightstand, uses it, then places the bottle on the floor with a soft _clink_. That's the breaking point.

I have to do all I can to stop myself from crying my love for him into the dark.

***

I can't cry any more.

I've sobbed myself dry. He's gone. I don't even bother to light another cigarette. I stroke my arm possessively where he hit me. "Lower," he'd said. I didn't respond. He said it again and I was so caught up I didn't do anything. Then he swiped his hand on me. It wasn't intentionally harmful, just an attention-getter.

But it still stings.

I rise up on my knees and pick up the bottle he placed on the floor. I hold it in my palm for a moment, just letting the pale light of the moon reflect off the glass. It seems so innocent. Just a little bottle of faintly brown liquid, viscous, sticking slightly to the sides when it's tipped. I shake it just to prove to myself it's just oil. I bring it to my face, uncork it and take a deep breath. The smell escapes me for a moment and then I remember what he breathed in my ear when he reapplied it for a second go. I feel tears spill down my face, despite my best efforts.

"Forget-me-nots."


	3. Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I sat in the pub, alone. It was a dirty place. Not as dirty as The Inn, but dirty enough.

"Sam?" She poked her head in my study. I was not in the mood to talk, but I allowed the interruption. I needed a break from figures and sums.

"Yes, Rosie?" I turned around in my chair. She was inching her way into the room. "My dear, you needn't be timid. It's just me. It's just your Sam."

"Sam, I..." She idly fiddled with her apron as she leaned up against the bookshelf.

"Come here." Still sitting, I opened my arms. She walked over and wrapped herself around me. I'd forgotten the feel of her hands on my head. It was comforting, in a way. She started crying. I raised my head. "Rose?"

"I n-need to talk to you, Sam." There was embarrassment in her eyes. "It's important."

"What, dear?" _She's found me out_ , I thought. _She knows I've been going out to that place for the last six months. She knows_.

"Well, I was thinkin', Sam, maybe it'd be best if I went back to stay with my father for a while." Her delivery was so straight-faced I nearly fell over. Why would she ever say a thing like that? Unless, of course, she had found out.

"Why's that, Rose?" I tried to mask my surprise, but my voice still quivered.

"Well, you've been so busy lately. I—I came to help you here—you know, clean the house and such, keep you company—and when you asked me to come I thought, 'This is it, Rose, he's goin' to ask for your hand.' My father's been waitin' for months for me to send word of our engagement. That was the reason I came, Sam. I thought you were goin' to marry me." She stared at my accounting book. "But I can see that will have to wait."

"Oh Rose. You're leaving me?" Despite myself, I felt tears spring to my eyes. I really did adore the girl. I didn't want to lose her.

"No, love. I'm not leavin' _you_ , per se. I'm just leavin' here. For a while. Until you get all this business straightened out and we can have a weddin' proper." She wiped her eyes. "I've got my bag packed; I can go tonight if you like."

I glanced at the moon in the sky. It was the right time of the fortnight. "No, Rose. I'll leave tonight. I won't make you walk that distance in the dark. If you wish, you can leave in the morning. I'll be back by then." I picked up my jacket and made for the front door. She sat in my chair and sobbed into her apron. I walked back, planted a quick kiss on the top of her head, turned around and started walking towards Hobbiton.

I had an appointment to keep.

***

I sat in the pub, alone. It was a dirty place. Not as dirty as The Inn, but dirty enough. It wasn't a place that I should've been seen, and yet there I was. I didn't care. My eyes and nose were red from drink and tears by my third ale. I needed to forget. And yet, all I could think of was Rose.

After Bilbo Baggins—my family's chief employer—left to visit the elves, he'd left me in charge of his home. He said he didn't know when he was coming back, if ever, and he had no heir. So it was my job to look after Bag End, especially the gardens. "I want them to be just as beautiful as ever, Samwise," he'd said.

I lived in the cozy little hole. I was lonely, so Rosie offered to help me out a bit. At first I refused, thinking she was coming on to me in her tweenish, shy way. She was. I didn't want her to come live with me at that point. Not only had I known her since we were children, but I was a bit of a rascal in my tweens.

In those years, I dabbled in, among other things, whores. I was obsessed with pleasure. I'd sneak out in the night. Seeing my excitement at this, a friend suggested I go to a little establishment called "Pennies", where you could get a quick hand or blow job for a very small fee. From a lad. He said it was better than anything he'd ever had. I went. It was. And it was cheap. Just what I needed. Then he suggested the secret section of Pennies, where you could actually _have_ the boys. They weren't much older than us, so I didn't think much of it. The price was quite a bit heftier, but I could pay it. I paid it nine times. Rose didn't need to know that, so I kept her out of the Bag End for those years

But eventually the infatuation with excitement wore off and I agreed to have her reside with me. And, contrary to what she may have thought, at the time, I really did love her and had every intention of marrying her. But I was working hard every day. There simply wasn't time for a wedding. She refused to "live in sin", so we never did anything more than a cuddle before bed or a few lazy kisses in the afternoon. Which was fine for a few years. Then it became frustrating. I could take care of myself well enough, but it wasn't the same as being with another. I started pushing her away. I started working at the gardens more and more. Management became my first priority. When she questioned my love, I couldn't handle it anymore. I left. I found The Inn. And I met him.

I sipped my ale and scowled at a group of rowdy young tweens who came to sit near me. All my thoughts shifted to _him_. He was something not of this world. His eyes glowed when I stepped into the room, brighter than his cigarette and brighter than the moon. His skin was like that of the elves—fair and smooth. His hands were nimble and skilled; they'd brought me to climax many times as I fell back on the old dealings of my youth. His voice was like a thousand bells chiming at once. He spoke very little, but when he did, my heart jumped into my throat. Every inch of him was beautiful.

And he let me do things to him that I never dreamed I could do to another. Not that I was a violent person, but I had some built-up frustration. He didn't seem to mind. "I'm used to it," he panted one time after I dug my nails into his shoulder, leaving moon-shaped scars, "See?" He'd lifted his arm to show a row of claw marks on his side. "My last customer. He's got the longest nails I've ever seen." He seemed almost amused by it.

My third mug of ale was almost gone. I cut myself off, leaving a few coins on the counter for a tip. I brushed past the tweens on my way out. I walked blindly out the door. I wandered for an hour or so, to let the effects of the ale wear off. I'd never been this inebriated when I went to The Inn, but I had to go. I wanted him. I needed him. I'd sat up many a night, debating my attachment to him. Was it love? Or just another infatuation? At that moment, it seemed it was pure lust. I needed my fix.

And yet. I longed to see his face, to feel his fingers on me. I wanted to sense his eyes trace my spine up and down. Above all, I desperately yearned for to hear him call my name into the dark. I was a fool not to tell him my name. Who was he going to tell? The Brandybuck? The Took? They already knew. I resolved to tell him that night.

I meandered my way to The Inn and stumbled inside. The Brandybuck was there, grinning widely. "Back again, Mr. Gamgee, eh?"

"The one with the ring." I leaned heavily on the counter. I rehearsed in my head how I was going to tell him my name. _Straight away, when you walk in the door_ , I thought, _no hesitation, Samwise. And have him on his back, will you? It's tiring him out to have him up on his knees all the time_. "All right," I muttered.

"What's all right?" The Brandybuck raised an eyebrow at me.

"Nothing. How much do I owe you?" He gave me a price and I paid freely. I made my way down the hall and stood outside the door with the "F" on it for a good ten seconds. I took a deep breath and opened it. The plan immediately left my head as my jaw went slack.

The moon was small. His eyes were even brighter than I remembered them. His skin almost glowed, despite the darkness of the room. He was in the process of putting his cigarette out; I could see it smoldering on the nightstand. His shoulder was facing me; a tiny scar from my own fingernails stood out as a red spot. His rich, dark curls stuck wetly to his neck and wrapped lazily around the chain. I couldn't help but stare for a moment, but I pulled myself together and barely sputtered out, "I'm here."

"I know," he whispered back, with such desperation it almost made me sick.


	4. It Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like last time, it hurts.

Just like last time, it hurts.

I wait for him alone in the dark, with the sheets up to my waist. Only a sliver of moon, high in the sky, illuminates the room. I see at the end of my nose the part of the cigarette that is glowing brightly orange. I feel him standing outside the door before the knob clicks to the left. His right. I put out my cigarette on the nightstand, making another pock mark. He whispers into the dark, "I'm here."

My voice barely works. "I know." I feel my lower half tingling. This never happens with anyone else. Just him. "I heard the door." We've done this so many times that the words are empty. He steps into the room, careful not to disturb anything. He's failed.

My body can't hold on to its composure much longer.

He sits down square to my outstretched legs. I feel the heat of his body seeping into the linens. He rubs the portion of bed next to him lightly. His hand slowly drifts to my thigh. Up my thigh. He closes his eyes and tips his head back as it becomes even hotter under his touch.

He's touching my heat when I want him to be touching my soul.

I see his golden curls in the moonlight as he removes his jacket and throws it on the floor. They are so perfect. Each and every one of them. Perfect. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on top of the jacket. I close my eyes. I hear a button pop and swearing under his breath. When I open my eyes again, he's sitting there, facing away from me, nude. My mouth dries out and my chest tightens.

I love him so much it hurts.

He'll never know. He'll never know—as he's fondling my hair, as he's teasing my mouth open with his tongue, as he's using my bottle of oil so that I won't scream in pain (he made that mistake the first time)—that I love him. He comes every fortnight, and I wait in agony. The persistence of the hardness between my legs is unbearable. I don't even need to touch it, it just happens. With the others, they have to watch me work for twenty, thirty minutes before anything happens at all. With him, I'm ready for two days before he shows up, puts his money on the counter and asks for "the one with the ring."

He doesn't even know my name.

He wraps his arms, then his legs around me. His lips lazily smash against mine. He's been to the pub again: he tastes strongly of ale and cigarettes. It's so familiar it makes me sick. He whispers that I'm too skinny, like always. He almost sounds worried about me. But I know he's not. He can't be. "Your eyes, dear. They're so...so bright..." he breathes through the heaving. He calls me "dear," but it means nothing.

Words are meaningless once he steps through that door.

I feel his hardness against my stomach. It's getting hotter by the moment. I feel my chest rising and falling, but it's as though I'm watching at a distance. He runs his tongue along my jawbone and I shiver because it's something new. He does that. He throws in something new, so I don't get bored. He's never said that, but I just know. He doesn't want to hire someone who only puts in half the effort because he's done it so many times. But then he pulls at my hair.

That means he's ready to go.

I look him in the eye. He knows what question I'm going to ask and even though I already know the answer. But he surprises me: "On your back this time." He's never asked for that before. I blink at him absently. "You heard me. I'm the one paying here." His words are like poison he's spitting at me. I cringe to myself, but retain my composure.

It burns like acid on my face.

He kneels between my ankles, locking them on either side of him. He uses the oil like he has a hundred times before. I can only watch as he rubs himself until the slippery liquid comes out. I've never seen it before. I'm always on my front, or on all fours. He reaches and grabs my rear from underneath. He pulls me towards him and himself towards me. I can't take it. I close my eyes. "Open those eyes," he says through clenched teeth. I shake my head violently. He loosens his grip and bends down to whisper in my ear. "I know you want it—" (oh, all that is holy, he's touching it, he's touching it, oh) "—but I want to see your eyes burning when I do it. I've never seen them when I'm inside you." I don't even think, I just open my eyes. "That's it." He pins my wrists with one of his hands to my belly. His face contorts and I can't take my eyes off of his. And—

Oh. He's in.

I make a noise loud enough for a bird to fly away outside. He slaps me across the face with the back of his hand other hand and releases my wrists. He looks disgusted as he pulls out. My eyes start watering and I reach a hand up to my face. He's hit me before, but not like that. By the time I pop my jaw back into place, he's all dressed except for his jacket, which is draped over his arm. He puts his hand on the door knob and hangs his head slightly. He turns back to me and takes the few paces over to the bed. He looks hung-over and angry. He puts one hand on my cheek which isn't facing him and kisses the one that is. "My name," he whispers fiercely, "is Samwise." And he pulls away.

"Mine's Frodo." My voice is an old, creaking abandoned house.

"Frodo," he repeats as he steps towards the door again. He opens it. "I'll have to ask for 'Frodo with the ring' next time." He turns quickly away and clicks the door shut behind him. I feel the tears spilling down my cheeks and I sputter as they fall onto the sheets. I'm alone in the dark again. The moon has only moved a fraction of an inch from where it was when he came in. I light another cigarette, but I can't feel it between my lips on the side where he slapped me.

Just like last time, it hurts.


	5. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's working right now, you know! He's not yours to play with when you please."

I tried to leave without looking like I cared even one bit, but a voice in the back of my head told me to go back. I cupped his jaw, sweetened my lips with a touch to his face and whispered, "My name is Samwise." I tried to sound as sober as I could.

"Mine's Frodo." The quiver in his voice was gut-wrenching, but I didn't let its effect on me show. I just straightened up and headed for the door again.

"I'll have to ask for 'Frodo with the ring' next time." And I left before I said anything that might tell him more than he needed to know. I walked straight out, head down, ignoring the Brandybuck. I put my jacket on once I was outside. I walked for a few minutes, then sat down on the doorstep of the pub I'd been to earlier that night. I looked up at the sky. Clouds were rolling in. The moon shone much too brightly for a thin line in the sky. It hurt my eyes.

Then I realized I was crying. Big, wet tears were streaming down my face and I couldn't do a single thing to stop it. I rationalized it to drink and fatigue, but I knew it was because of him. I couldn't get the thought of him out of my head. A foursome of young hobbits tripped over me coming out of the pub. I withdrew from them as they laughed and walked away, wrapping myself in my jacket and sobbing.

And then, as if to mock me, the sky ripped open and it began to pour.

***

After an hour or so of aimless wandering, I found myself standing outside the Inn. I still couldn't get my thoughts away from him. Letting the rain fall and force my hair into my eyes, I stood there for a long while. Eventually something moving caught my eye. My gaze drifted to the cracked, fogged window, as he—as Frodo—was servicing another customer. I heard him call out a name—something indecipherable, but a name nonetheless. Neither of them saw me. I bit my lip and scrubbed my eyes, but it didn't stop anything. I found a little corner of Hobbiton that looked unkempt, sat right there in the mud and attempted to cry myself to sleep. It didn't work.

Finally, the clouds parted slightly and I could see a star poke its head out. I was wet, tired, cold and hung-over. I was covered in filth and overwhelmed with grief. All my joints ached, almost as much as my heart. The moon peeked from behind the last of the clouds and told me it was nearly three in the morning.

A crazy idea entered my head at that moment. The Brandybuck would mock me. "Back so soon, Mr. Gamgee?" he'd scoff. "You didn't have enough tonight, eh?" But that wouldn't matter. I knew why I was there and that's all that I cared about.

I took off my jacket and folded it on itself, so I wouldn't get my shirt dirty. I stopped for a moment and laughed at myself. It didn't matter anymore. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

***

"Back so soon, Mr. Gamgee?" Just as I'd predicted. Only he didn't scoff. He was utterly confused and surprised.

My voice didn't want to work. A growl rose in my throat. "Frodo." I threw my money on the counter.

He lifted an eyebrow and scooped up the handful of coins I'd scattered. "This—this is too much, Mr. Gamgee."

"Don't care." I left him in a state of shock and started to walk towards the room.

"He's working right now, you know! He's not yours to play with when you please." That was the Took.

I whipped around and glared at him as I sat down on the bench by the counter. I threw my jacket to the side, then leaned forward and held my head in my hands. I could feel the two hobbits staring at me, wondering what they should do. My shoulders were shaking, but tears wouldn't come anymore.

I heard footsteps. I looked up to see a hobbit about twice my age coming from down the hall. I didn't recognize him. His grey hair was soaked with rain and perspiration. He had an inebriated smile on his face and his hands didn't leave his pockets. He slurred something indistinguishable to the Brandybuck and stumbled out the door. The two looked at me knowingly.

I got up and paced back to the room. The door wasn't even shut. My heart raced. My feet started going faster and faster underneath me. And then it happened. I felt the word rise in my throat, but I didn't think it would come out so quickly or so easily. Or so painfully.

"Frodo?"

I froze. My face flushed red hot. I hadn't meant to say his name. I inched forward, peeked into the room, then stood cautiously in the doorway. He had stopped in mid-motion, lighting a cigarette to pass the time between patrons when I'd squeaked in the hallway. He saw me and the bewildered look on his face grew by tenfold. He would have stayed exactly as he was—staring with terrified eyes into mine—if the match he was holding had not burned the tip of his thumb. He shook it out in a flurry and swore under his breath. I took the opportunity to make my way into the room.

By the time he looked at me again, he was calm and collected. He struck another match and ignited the end of his cigarette. "Back for more, Samwise Gamgee?" he asked sarcastically.

My jaw wouldn't work. He sucked hard on the cigarette and pulled his legs in to sit cross-legged. I moved to occupy the space he'd just vacated. I sat with one leg curled under me and dropped my hands into my lap. I thought I had run out of tears, but they trailed down my cheek just the same. I felt his hand on my arm and looked up at him. He turned to put out the cigarette, then focused on me again. His eyes were wide with curiosity as he craned his neck to try and see my face. I began openly sobbing when he took my hand in both of his.

"What—" His voice had changed from scornful to concerned, and it broke my heart. I couldn't let him say anything past that single word.

"I—I love you," I blurted out. That was easier than I thought it'd be, but his face immediately went even paler than it had been, if that was possible at all. His arms went limp and he stopped stroking my hand. I got up and headed for the door. "I'll just go."

"No. Wait." He was pleading with me. I turned to find him reaching into the dark for me. The clouds had parted and a single beam of moonlight shone through the window, highlighting his mass of brown curls so that they almost glowed. I sat back down on the bed. He took my hand again. "Samwise—"

"Sam," I spat. I realized how harsh I'd sounded and added, "Just call me Sam."

"Sam." He paused for a moment to get his mouth used to the new sound. And then he hung his head and said the thing I never expected him to say: "I love you too."

"You do?" What was he saying?

He nodded, smiled (I think for the first time in years) and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, while still holding mine in the other. "I'm just as surprised as you, I think" He sounded as if a great weight had been lifted from around his neck. "I can't tell you how many times I've cried myself to sleep in this bed, because I thought you were just like all the others. But you're—you're not. You—"

I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned over and touched my lips to his. It was not the rough, lustful kiss we'd had so many times before: this time his mouth received mine as if they were one in the same. This time it was out of love.


	6. Keep My Mouth Shut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he wasn't kissing me right now, I'd probably be making a fool of myself.

I never have known how to keep my mouth shut.

I've always had a proclivity towards saying too much, for using more words than I really needed to. My ability to drag out a single statement for five minutes has annoyed my cousins for years. They always told me I should be a writer, that I should write some epic tale. They said I took after my cousin Bilbo, the one who sent me my ring and I'd only met once or twice. But when he—when Sam said the last thing in the world I'd expected him to say, my tongue stopped. My speaking ability just shut down. All the blood drained out of my face as he moved to leave. I barely squeaked out a meek, "No. Wait." And that started it.

If he wasn't kissing me right now, I'd probably be making a fool of myself.

I was just about to explain everything, but I'm grateful that he's swallowed my words. The way he's cradling my elbow in his hand is enough to tell me what I needed to know. His mouth is not the same as it was just hours ago. The taste of the pub is gone, and he's much more gentle. His other hand is on my collarbone, reaching up to grab a lock of hair. He tugs it, almost out of tradition, and releases the kiss. His eyes drop to his lap immediately. "I feel awful—worse than awful, downright appalled that you've be working for me, Frodo." He seems to be as uncomfortable with my name as I am with his. "I—I wonder if I could do anything for you." The moonlight streaming through the window is reflecting off his eyes. My heart skips a beat.

"No, Sam. You've done more than anyone else ever has already. You love me."

I lift his chin with two fingers. He wipes away a few tears from his cheeks, takes my hand in his and grins tenderly. "I insist." He stands up to take off his weskit. "Please." He tears at his shirt buttons and looks plainly at me. "Is this what you want?" I just nod, and he continues to undress. He's facing me. He's never done that before. He moves to unlace his breeches and I can't take it anymore.

"Please, I want to..."

He kneels on the bed, kisses the tear out of the corner of my eye, then engulfs my lips in his again. He places my hand on the lacing, entwining our fingers and the cord until somehow the knots are untied. He pulls the cloth back and puts my hand on his bare skin. He nods and I let my hand go where it wants. I close my eyes and find the thing that was inside me just hours ago. It's still slick and getting warmer by the moment. My hand grips it loosely. His lips unlock from mine. They brush the corners of my mouth, drift down my chin, my neck, my chest, graze over my stomach. I lift the covers so he doesn't have to twist his neck to get at me. He touches me with his tongue. A gasp escapes my throat as I tighten my fingers on his curls. The moist inside of his lips and the tip of his tongue trace up and down the shaft. I keep my eyes closed, but sense him looking up at me. "Is this what you want?" I've lost control of myself as I try to speak.

The only two words I can produce are, "Don't stop..."

His tongue makes its way up and down the length, then he takes me completely in his mouth. My back arches involuntarily. I can't stand it much longer as I clench my teeth and cover his ears with my thighs. I close my eyes when he shifts his head to the left—his right—and dig my fingers into the base of his skull. His neck is slick with sweat. He puts his hands on my knees and lifts up slightly. I angle my hips up to meet him, then relax. I feel words rise in my throat.

"Oh Sam..."

He opens his lips and moves away slightly. My hand drifts to the nape of his neck, trying to push his head back to where it was. He obliges, then pulls away again. He groans as I move to his slow rhythm. I can't stand it much longer. My thigh releases and smacks into the side of his head as I jerk upwards again. My palm presses into the side of his head. His hand strokes my leg as he pulls his head back a final time.

I can't control my voice from yelling his name into the darkness.

My eyes roll back in my head, my heart races and I'm gone. I shudder into his mouth, then vaguely feel his tongue hitch up before it leaves to trail up to my hip. Now he's laying on top of my leg, moving to my arm, my shoulder, my neck. He kisses my chin and nuzzles my cheek. "Did you like that?" All I can produce is some kind of appreciatory sound. My eyes are closed as I try to bring my breathing rate back to normal. He's not helping, tracing one finger up and down my chest. Suddenly I feel him move off the bed and open my eyes. My ability to form words has obviously escaped me, as I can only whimper at him. He places his lips over mine as he buttons his shirt again. "I'll be back, soon." He wipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "I promise." I pull the covers around my waist again as he walks for the door. I realize something just when he places his hand on the knob.

"Wait."

He turns his head.

"Why aren't you angry?"

"Because you cried out?" He smiles forlornly. "You don't know?" He turns to me completely, blushes and hangs his head. "It was my name. I—I wanted you to do that." He goes for the knob again.

"Sam?"

This time he seems exasperated when he turns to me. I can't help but grin.

"Your lacing's untied."


	7. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I suppose you want Frodo again, eh?" The Brandybuck didn't even look up from counting his money.

If I hadn't left when I did, he might have noticed more than just my breeches being untied. I was stiff with need, but this visit had been about _him_ , not me. I paid because it was the only way to be near him. Now I knew I got just as much out of getting him off as I did from just him. That helped me process the plan I had in my head.

When I stepped out the door to the outside it was just past four in the morning. If Rose was being her usual self, she'd be gone by now. Rose. She seemed like a distant memory already. And the funny thing was, I didn't miss her.

***

By the time I got into Bag End, she was gone. There was a note on the table in the kitchen:

_Dearest Sam, Though I do not want to leave, I don't know if I can bring myself to come back. Know that you always have my heart. All my love, Rosie._

There were fresh tear stains on the lower right hand corner. My poor Rose. I felt terrible, but I simply could not find it in my heart to love her the way I used to. I folded the note and sealed it in an envelope. I pressed my lips to it gently and placed it in a little-used drawer in a back room.

Still, I could not stop the words "Goodbye Rose" from escaping my lips.

***

In the hours before noon, I slept. I dreamt that he was lying next to me, stroking my hair, kissing the tip of my ear. I awoke with nothing more than the desire to take him from that place, and to love him. He was clearly much more than a simple whore. I wanted to learn everything there was to know about him, but mostly why he decided to become what he was.

I spent most of the day in the gardens. Every smell reminded me of him—each time, the oil he gave me was a different scent. I noticed a little patch of flowers, looking forlorn and neglected. _How did these slip by me for all these months?_ , I thought, _Especially when they're my favorites—forget-me-nots_. And it hit me. That was the first one. I'd been avoiding them.

The sun started setting as I knelt by the tiny, shriveled buds. I knew what I had to do. I picked up my tools, wiped the tears off my cheek and headed inside. I had a long night ahead of me.

***

I walked to Hobbiton for the second time in 24 hours. The sun was little more than a red arch on the horizon when I came upon the Inn. I ignored the stares and snickers the crowd produced as I opened the door and stepped inside. The door slammed behind me and the Took, who was running across the vestibule, winced.

"I suppose you want Frodo again, eh?" The Brandybuck didn't even look up from counting his money. He was calm and cool as the night sky outside. "Well, I think you're out of luck, Mr. Gamgee." He looked me straight in the eye, fingering at the gold chain around his neck.

"What do you mean?" I asked, in a voice I didn't recognize as my own. Much too high.

"What I mean is, he doesn't want to see you anymore. I don't know why. You're his most valuable customer."

I tried to speak, but if I had I fear my jaw would have fallen off from the shaking.

He nodded his head towards the hallway. "He's still back there. He just doesn't want you anymore." I started to step away, towards the hall, when he said, "Don't even try. He won't talk to you even if you go back there." He lowered his head again. "If there's nothing else I can do for you, Mr. Gamgee, I'd suggest you get out of here, before the townsfolk get suspicious." He turned away, then came back quickly. "Oh, and one more thing." He tossed a good-sized bag of coins on the counter. "He said that's yours. He said he didn't feel right keeping it."

"He knows it's mine?" Definitely not my voice.

He shrugged. "Apparently. Good day, sir." And he disappeared.

The Took came to my side. "It's all right, Mr. Gamgee. He gets over things quick. Come back next week."

I grabbed him by the arm. He squeaked and I loosened my grip. "Can you give him a message for me?"

"Yes." He raised his eyebrows when I let go.

"Tell him I'm not giving up."

***

I sat alone in Bag End for a long time. I lit a candle, which nearly burned down to nothing. _What happened?_ , I wondered. _I thought he loved me_. Now I was alone, without Rose _or_ Frodo. The smials of Bag End suddenly seemed huge and daunting.

I decided I would sleep on it. As I prepared for the night, I looked at the double bed I had once shared with Rose—the one I'd hoped to share with him. It appeared to be five times as big as it had just that afternoon. Much too big for one hobbit.

I wiped my eyes and dressed for another walk into Hobbiton.

***

About halfway there, I noticed a dark, cloaked figure walking away from the town. It was a hobbit. And, judging from the stumbling and side-stepping, a very drunk hobbit. I couldn't recognize him. His arms flailed to keep his balance and he was talking gibberish, loudly, to himself. When he fell to the ground, I started running.

He was lying face down in the mud. I knelt beside him. His hood covered a good portion of his head. His hand clutched something at his chest. He was shaking all over and mumbling incoherently. I lifted his hood. It took all my strength to stop from bursting into tears.

"Frodo."

He didn't answer. He had passed out, but was still breathing. I held him to my chest and cradled him gently before picking him up and carrying him by the shoulders and knees. The distance to Bag End shortened before my very eyes and soon we were inside. I drew a bath and undressed him. There were scratches all over his arms and face, and bruises on his torso. He was filthy. The ring was still on the chain around his neck. I gently removed it and placed it on the pile of his clothes. As I washed away the dirt, he would occasionally lean into or grasp my hands—involuntarily, as he was still passed out—and I detected a hint of a smile when I reached his face and neck.

I dried him and dressed him in some of my nightclothes. I laid him out on the double bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. When I stroked his cheek lightly, he instinctually turned to my hand and mumbled something that almost sounded like "Sam". I kissed his forehead gently and blew out the candles in the room. Before I left to spend the night in the adjacent room, I glanced back at him.

Even in sleep, he glowed.


	8. Bad for Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not my room. Not my bed. I have no idea where I am.

_I love him._

That's the first thought that comes into my aching head as I wake up. Eyes half open, I feel the sun on my face. It must be midday. Merry will have my head if I go talk to him now. I absently reach for the nightstand to my right, expecting to find my matches and cigarettes. Instead, there is only smooth wood.

There are no rough spots from cigarette burns.

I open my eyes and sit up in alarm. This is not my room. Not my bed. I have no idea where I am. I throw the covers off and stand up. Someone either took advantage of me or took care of me. I have no dirt in my hair anymore, so I assume the latter. Either way, I'm terrified. What on earth did I do after I left the pub last night? Where am I? Who took me in? As I'm wondering, something on a chair catches my eye. Two somethings. They're hand-mirrors, with silver handles. Someone very wealthy and very trusting. I snatch them up and proceed to hide them somewhere for taking later. As I'm placing them down, I notice something engraved in the metal. I lift them to my face to read them more carefully. One says "Rose". The other takes my breath away.

It says, "Samwise", faintly.

My hand goes limp and I don't even notice the crash or the broken glass as my knees give out and I land on the bed. The other hand grips onto Sam's mirror tightly. My thumb runs over the letters again and again. Sam. Sam found me, somehow. My vision blurs with tears. And then, suddenly, as though my mind was being read, he is in the doorway. I lift my eyes from the mirror, set it on the bed and stand up. He holds out his arms and I fall into them readily. He strokes my hair gently as I bury my face in his chest and cry all over his shirt, which smells of flowers and sunlight. He pulls back from me and kisses my forehead.

"You must be hungry," he says.

I take a deep breath, wipe my cheek, and nod slowly. His arm slips around my shoulder and leads me out of the room, into a long hallway. I am, in fact, starving, but I realize I don't know if I'll be able to handle whatever he's about to give me. My legs feel weak and I'm afraid I won't make it to where he's taking me. Thankfully, we turn into a room that smells of tea and biscuits and bacon. He sits me down, pours something into a mug and tells me to drink it. He tells me it's some kind of tincture for too much drink. It tastes like mint and grass, but I down the whole mug before I can think. My stomach starts to feel a little better, but my head still pounds. He puts a mug of tea in front of me and looks me in the eye.

"Drink that."

He walks out of the room and returns with a blanket. He wraps it around me and kisses my cheek. He sits across the table from me and watches me drink in silence. After a few minutes, the toast comes out. Despite the dull ache in my stomach, I eat fast and eat it all. I look up at him as I stuff the last piece in my mouth and he smiles genuinely at me. He clears the plate and mugs away, sits right next to me, and takes my hand in his.

"Now, Frodo, would you mind explaining what you were doing walking by yourself on that road last night?"

I freeze up. I only remember little bits and pieces of what happened and most of that is blurry. And the small amount I _do_ remember clearly, I don't want to tell him. I speak for the first time in what feels like years, forcing the words out. "I don't remember." Looking concerned, he gets me another mug of tea and fixes it up with something before placing it under my nose. "What did you do to it?" My throat hurts so much it burns.

"Just drink it."

Somehow, he knows just what to do make the aches and pains stop. My throat feels at least a little better and I can speak again. "I...I don't know if I should tell you." I swallow the last of the tea, avoiding his eyes.

"Why's that?"

He doesn't sound offended, or demanding, or anything like he was just a few days ago. He rubs my arm and I turn to him. His eyes say it all. I break down as I tell him the whole story.

_You left and I felt empty. I wanted to be in your arms again. But there was no time to sulk. Pip brought another one back almost immediately after you stepped out. I couldn't do it. I couldn't let him have me. Somehow I forced myself to, but it hurt over every inch of my skin. When he left, I walked out of my room for what felt like the first time ever. I told Merry I couldn't do this anymore. He scowled at me, asked me why. I told him it was because of you. Because I loved you. Because you loved me. He said then I was worthless to him. I couldn't do what he'd hired me to do. He said I had a choice: I could be thrown out on the street and love you or stay there and never see you again—he'd make sure of that. I told him I didn't know where I'd go if he threw me out. He said it was decided then._

If you came back, I couldn't have you—it was bad for business.

I said if he wasn't going to let me see you again, I wanted to be rid of everything about you, including all the earnings you had provided. He said he'd take care of it. I cried myself to sleep, like I have for months. I slept until midday. I didn't speak to either of my cousins. I set myself up like I always did at 7 o'clock sharp. Then I heard you in the front. I heard you talking to Merry. He was speaking loud enough so I could hear him, and he knew it. I thought he was tricking me, but Pip came back to tell me you'd just been in. I couldn't take it anymore. I needed you.

I told Merry I was leaving.

I don't own much—it all fit in my pockets. Merry called after me as I left that he didn't want me back until I was over this infatuation. I ignored him. I went to the pub and ordered an ale. I drank it quickly and ordered another. And another. I sat for hours, undisturbed, drinking. Then some young hobbits started to pester me. I tried to ignore them, but they wouldn't give it up. They said I was a two-penny whore. I had a bit of fight in me, or so I thought, so I challenged them. They hit me, they ripped at my hair; they taunted me; they pushed me around. I hit my head on the edge of the bar; that combined with drink made me lose all coherence. I couldn't speak. They threw me out the back door. I wandered to the road. I walked for a few yards, stumbled, caught my balance and walked a bit further. I don't remember where I was going or why I was going there. I just remember wanting to go. The thought of you came into my head. I lost my balance and fell face down in the mud.

Then it was dark.

I'm practically sobbing by the end. He's moved into the chair next to me. I lean against him. He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. That makes me cry harder. He strokes my back and I bury my face in his chest.

"It's all right," he says into my hair, "Your Sam's here now. I'm going to take care of you."

I look at him pleadingly. He just nods and kisses my cheek.

"I found you. I brought you home. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you. "

"I...I love you, Sam." I sit up and kiss him. I find the strength in me to lift one of my legs and drape it over his lap, with my mouth still on his. He pulls back and smiles.

"Coincidentally, Frodo, I love you too."

He kisses me again. I realize at this point that all my aches and pains are gone. I'm about to break the kiss and tell him when his hand goes to my thigh. I move it up slowly, pushing it up under the nightclothes he's dressed me in. His other hand goes to my other thigh and he half-pushes, half-lifts me onto the table.

I don't stop him.


	9. Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have to open my eyes to know he was there, but I did anyway.

I didn't have to open my eyes to know he was there, but I did anyway. His arm was still across my chest, his nose still touching the tip of my ear, his toe stopped in mid-motion on my ankle. I turned to look at him and he shifted, eyelids fluttering. We hadn't been lying there long—the sun was still high in the sky—and neither of us had really fallen asleep, though I had a feeling he was closer to it than I. I reached for the drawer on the nightstand as he stretched and yawned. I heard him sit up and felt his hand on my back as he whispered, "Sam?" I continued to rummage until I found what I was looking for—some pipeweed I'd rolled up in strips of paper and a box of matches. "Sam?" he said, a little louder.

I turned back to him and handed him my findings. "Here. For you."

He didn't quite know how to react. "Oh, Sam, I—" He took the make-shift cigarette and inhaled deeply as he ran the length under his nose. He stuck it between his lips and I lit a match. He leaned in, ignited the end, and took a long drag. He relaxed into the headboard behind him as I sat up and took his free hand in mine. He took another drag, looked at me and said, "That. Was good." And he kissed me. He placed the cigarette between his lips, fixed himself so he was sitting cross-legged. His left hand absently went to his neck. His eyes went wide. "My ring."

Without saying a word, I sat up and made my way for the door.

"Sam?" he sounded petrified.

"I'll be right back, love." I tried to sound teasing, but it just came out as nervous. I was afraid he might think I had stolen it. But I hadn't. When I returned from the washroom with the chain, his eyes were wide and the cigarette was halfway smoked. He relaxed when he saw what I was carrying.

"Ah..." he breathed, and reached for it, nearly snatching it from my hand. It quickly found its way around his neck. After a moment, he whispered, "That was the first time in years I'd been without it." His fingers gently caressed it.

I sat next to him and took one of his hands. Maybe it was just a nervous habit, the fact that he played with it, but it didn't seem that way to me. "I'm curious. Where did you get it?"

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped himself and looked down. "I—I'm not sure I want to tell you." He glanced up at me. "Yet."

I nodded. "Then maybe you can tell me how a lad like you came to work in a place like that." I kissed his temple and stroked his hand.

He giggled. "Lad?" When he saw I was serious, he looked at me sternly. "You _were_ kidding, right?"

I gave him a puzzled looked. He certainly seemed about the same age as me, if not younger.

"How old do you think I am, Sam? Honestly...I won't be offended..."

"I'd say..." I thought for a moment, judged his shining hair, his perfect skin, his bright eyes. "I'd say you're 30."

He laughed again and took a final drag. "30? Not even close, sir." I handed him the dish I'd brought in so that he wouldn't mark up the end table that once belonged to Rose—perhaps still did belong to Rose. He put out the cigarette and lit another. "I'm 45."

I didn't realize my jaw had dropped until his finger was underneath my chin, lifting it up. "45?"

He nodded, almost jovially.

I looked at him slyly. "And here I thought I was fooling in the matters of a tweenager."

"Well, you weren't," he grinned. "Though I'd probably still love you if you were." And he kissed me again. He smelled like pipeweed, which was not what he normally smoked. It was a little disconcerting.

"Then, what was an old git like you doing in a place like that." I tried again to sound teasing, but this time it came out as if I were mocking him. "I—I didn't mean to say it like that."

He smiled softly. "I know, Sam." He readjusted himself in the bed and sucked in the final drag off the cigarette. He extinguished it and turned to me, dropping his hands in his lap. "You want to know why I was there?"

I crossed my legs and leaned up against the headboard. "Yes." I was ready for anything.

He sighed. "Well, it is a rather long story. But in short, I was in love, but I knew that it would only bring me heartache. We were from two different classes, we lived across the Shire from each other, and—" he looked up at me "— _he_ was engaged to another. We had a summer together, but I told him that he ought to go get married. It was how things were supposed to be. I was used to being alone. I could handle it. Only I couldn't. My cousins—the parents of Merry, whom I'm sure you've met before—were starting up a business and they invited me to help them. I didn't know it was what it was until I arrived at their 'shop' in Buckland. I was young then—only 25 or so. My parents had been dead for years, and I had no one to turn to. Another cousin invited me to live with him a few years later, but I was already deep into debt with Merry and I had to work to pay it off. Or so he said. So, you see, it's all in the family."

I absorbed the information slowly. "So, this other cousin of yours, who was he?"

"Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. The great traveler. He wanted me to follow in his footst—Sam?"

I suppose my face had gone white, because his hands were on my cheeks. "Bilbo Baggins," I echoed.

"Yes. Did you know him?" He sounded concerned.

I blinked and snapped out of the trance. "Know him! We're in his bed, Frodo!"

By the time I turned to him, his jaw had gone slack and he clearly wasn't the same hobbit he'd been a moment before. His eyes were wide, and he quickly curled in on himself, knees to his chest, rocking. Then, as if he was speaking to himself (and I think he was), in a voice that wasn't quite his, he whispered, "He—he sent me this ring, years ago. He told me he was going on a long journey and he wanted me to have it. He said it was magical—not dangerous, the wizard assured him of that." He relaxed his shoulders and tightened his fist on the ring. I tried to reach out for him, but he recoiled, nearly hissing. He looked at me, but there wasn't anything behind his eyes—which were glowing blue by now—that said _Frodo_ to me. "He said he knew it would find its way back to Bag End." He looked down and pulled out the chain far enough so he could see it, then yanked on it and broke it. He started talking to it: "You're home now..." He turned to put it on the nightstand and I saw the red marks on his neck.

"Frodo..." I touched his shoulder and he turned back. He was once again Frodo, but he looked terrified. "Oh, Frodo. I don't understand."

"I don't either. I—I...that's never happened before..." The words barely left his lips before tears were streaming down his face from nearly grey eyes.

I put my arms around him and held on tight. He felt small and cold. I pulled him in closer and he buried his face in my shoulder.

Over the top of his curls, a beam of sunlight reflecting off the ring caught my eye and, for a brief moment, it was blue.


End file.
